abstract skies
by forlorn seas
Summary: in sense, a logical person would realise that the sky cannot be painted. - rose/scorpius, for watching stiricide


**abstract skies**  
in sense, a logical person would realise that the sky cannot be painted. - rose/scorpius, for watching stiricide

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**a/n**: for alice, darling, you're incredible, and i'm just honoured to have stumbled upon your forum and have met you and everyone else. i love you, sweetie. :)

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**disclaimer**: (c) j.k rowling

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The horizon stretches out onto the plains, hugging the land close, brushing out the water, tears falling from the crimson skies. The bay swells over, drowning us in, then the strength that we thought we lost coming back to our bones. The universe was taught to coexist with life and everything in it, but now, we've just been pushing it to turn away. In ways, I've always believed that the world we live in is crumbling down, into ashes and stones, in a blink of our eyes. Now, I am certain.

In a post-dystopian world, you would think that we could've prevented this from happening again, but in reality, the forces of nature have been building their power underneath our buildings and modifications and adjustments, clawing their way out to try and prosper again. I am ready, if I must face the world alone, so I shall.

My feet trudge up the mountain side, the gusts of wind send my hair flying, the lack of oxygen threatens my air supply, but I am fine. Up here, the world doesn't seem to be as bad, frankly, it seems quite peaceful. The cities have lighten up the skies, dots of glowing beacons truly becoming one, otherwise, the seas create a large spread of blue grasses and plains for the gods to come through and glide upon. The cliffs and rocks and jagged stones rise from the heavens to construct a staircase for us to walk to the clouds and soar. We, as mankind, have begotten a world that coordinates with itself to form the most amazing of all things. I would hate to see this end.

I climb back down, willing myself to fall, but cannot, for they're waiting for me back home.

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I ascended up his staircase, tiptoeing, the unmasking of this affair to be treacherous on both our families social statuses. I open the door, finding himself sketching again, the graphite streaking across the parchment in a perpetual motion, never for it to hover over or become idle, but continuously moving.

"Hey," I say, brushing off a stray curl to be put behind my ear. I find his acknowledgement of my presence, and and so I took to walking towards his bed chambers. I stripped to my nightgown, shoving the filthy gear into my canvas bag, for it to be left alone under a loose plank in his floor.

"What do you think?" he asks, caressing my cheek, smudging away dirt from my face. I saw myself, with delicate features and an innocent expression, false in reality, but it looked quite good on paper.

"It's not very accurate, though, I liked it. A lot." I say, lightly brushing my lips against his. "Although, I think I would remember when I showed that much skin around you." He flushed pink, a change from his frosty, pale skin. His eyes wandered all over my body, the orbs of grey taking in every single curve and freckle and goose-bump, his mind mentally sketching me undressed. I let him take me in and all that's left of the night are my gasps between every single time his body unites my mine.

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I rise against the rocky cliffs of the bay, my hands calloused and at parts, bleeding. I see the horizon again, this time, the tears of red, and as I taste them, I find it to be the blood of humanity. Now, it is time.

I stretch my arms, being supplied with my glider, I soared the skies to catch up with the destruction head the town's way. I find no tears for my family as I ascend to my death, for I am ready.

There were millions of them, billions, even. There they were, monsters, lethal and venomous, slithering and clawing and flying and rampaging towards us. They were many of them, but even strength with numbers will not supply them for the ultimate weapon,_ me_.

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In sense, I would be killed, either one way or another. I would be scalped and be beheaded or eaten whole, but those things were monsters, unlogical, only cunning, and they have gone with the wind once I have chanted the words of the Killing Curse, destroying each and every one of them.

Because, they can't_ change_ who I am. And I am _fearless_.

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**a/n**: this has been long overdue. the ending's a bit sketchy, but. oh well. reviews?


End file.
